Something Untoward
by Thumbtax
Summary: Something untoward happened. But what? Just another awkward romance between a skinny wannabe goth and a four-armed telepathic mutant. (Dean x Talia, takes place towards the end of "What Color Is Your Cleansuit?")


All characters are the property of their creators and Cartoon Network.

* * *

I can build a working force field out of a car and a car out of kitchen appliances. I can read your mind. I can tell you pi to four hundred thousand places, and it's not because I have it memorized; it's because I can do the calculations in my head.

So why didn't I know what to do with the boy in my bedroom?

He looked so nervous, perched on the edge of the bed, his dark hair falling over one eye. But I didn't have to read his expression to know how he felt-the emotions poured off of him in waves. He was scared. Excited. Happy. Worried.

I wanted to compose something comforting and send it to him, but I knew how hopeless he still was with the silent tongue. He could broadcast, but not edit, and he couldn't receive anything more complicated than the spoken word. The rays of Palemon would change that in time, of course, but for now he was still very limited.

So I saw down next to him on the bed, and opened my mouth.

"Okay, so..."

"So," he said. His voice quavered. I was doing my best not to look into his mind, but there was no way to avoid it-he was gushing images like an oil well. Not all of them were sexual. At least, I sure hope they weren't. There were dinosaurs. Robots. His brother. Girl Gremlin. Spiderman. Myself, the way I used to be, with two arms and the long brown hair that fell out weeks ago. Myself, the way I am now, pale and hairless, a child of Palaemon. People I didn't know-a haggard woman in leather. An enormous man wielding a knife. Clouds of butterflies, everywhere, swarming and fluttering and falling dead from the sky. And somewhere over and under and mixed in with all of it, a girl with purple hair and heavy-lidded eyes, wrapped in so much raw love and hate that it almost hurt just to look at her.

"So," I said, and sighed. "So, uh, it's been a while and I'm a little awkward at this stuff..." I leaned toward him.

"Playtipi are the only poisonous mammals," he blurted. It was like a little bit of his crazy all-over-the-place brain had leaked out of his mouth.

"Aaaaaaand I'm not the only one, I guess, so this is me taking the initiative."

I put my lips to his and took his hands in two of mine and put the other two on his chest.

"So I'm just...going to do this..."

Gently, I pushed him down onto the bed.

A sudden splash of ice water; a memory of fear. He was trapped. Terrified. I saw two blonde girls, twins, one holding him down on a bed while the other straddled him. What was this? Who was I seeing? I didn't know, and yet knowing what they'd done-or tried to do-having the emotions forced into me, it was as if I was living through it, feeling their hands crawling over me, hearing piercing giggles and stereo squeals. I received, and I broadcast, and he received, and we were a loop, a circuit, an electromagnet locked together, until there was nothing I could do but take everything that was passing between us and send it _away._

I heard a long, shuddering gasp and realized it was my own. I rolled off of him.

"I'm sorry, Dean," I said. "I-I'm so sorry."

"It's okay."

"We don't-I'm sorry-I'm-we don't have to do anything you don't want to do, okay?" My heart was pounding out of my chest.

"Nah, it's fine." He smiled and took one of my lower hands in his. He really was fine. He'd recovered faster than I had from his own traumatic memory. Somewhere under that cheery grin, I could feel a mass of scar tissue, so many traumas piled on top of one another that none of them really meant anything anymore.

"We're going to have to be careful," I said. "God, that was just...you know what? I need a drink."

"Pop installed extra security around the liquor cabinet," Dean said. "He said there was 'no way I'm letting those rowdy hooligans drink up all my wine coolers'."

"Don't take this the wrong way, but your dad kinda has a stick up his ass."

"Tell me about it." He rolled his eyes, then suddenly brightened. "Hey! How about a board game?"

"What."

"They're great for breaking the tension. We have Don't Wake Daddy and Ants in the Pants-we used to have Mr. Bucket until Dermott put a firecracker in his mouth, but that one was kinda for little kids anyway. Let me go grab one from the hall closet, and-"

"Hold on." I grabbed his hand, pulling him back to the bed. "I have a better game."

"Uhm, okay," he said. "Like Scrabble?"

"It's called... 'I Like'. It's really easy to play. You just look at the other person and say what you like. I'll go first." I took a deep breath and folded all my hands in my lap. "I like your freckles."

"Oh. Ah...I like your eyes. They're super green."

"I like your hair." I kneaded his thick black-dyed locks.

"It's going to fall out if I stay in here more than, like, a day," he pointed out.

"Then I'll like your head."

"I like..." He considered. "Your lips."

"You don't sound too sure."

"I'm pretty sure."

"Maybe you'd better check."

I leaned forward, closed my eyes, and pursed my lips slightly. Okay, it was ridiculously chaste. I felt like Queen of the Virgins in: My Very First Middle School Prom. But I figured it was the sort of thing he'd like. In a moment, I felt his own lips on mine.

"Good news!" he said after a moment. "I definitely like your lips!"

"Well, I like _your_ lips."

"I like your hands," he said. "The...the extra ones, I mean. Not that others aren't nice, but those are...really soft."

I traced one finger along the side of his cheek. A thrill of pleasure bounced between us, from mind to mind, like ripples in a tiny pool.

"I like your legs," I said, thinking of the way his calves had looked flexing and straining against Martins'.

"I like..." He paused. "Is it okay if I say your boobs?"

"Yes."

"Oh. Okay. I like your boobs."

"I like your butt." I grinned at him. "Y'know, assuming it doesn't squirt acid."

"I like that, even when you're growing extra arms, you still have time to be there for a friend."

"I like your freckles."

"Hey, you used that one already!"

"That was the the odd-numbered freckles. Now I'm liking the even-numbered ones."

"I like the way you smell. It's like...it's kind of like... lavender and ozone."

I wrapped all four of my arms around him, slowly, gently, so I wouldn't freak him out again. "And you smell like fancy soap."

I nuzzled against his forehead, listening to the beating of his heart through his thin body, and we painted beautiful pictures in each other's minds.


End file.
